


An Accidental Heart-to-Heart

by mobilicordis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Gen, Hogwarts Express, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mobilicordis/pseuds/mobilicordis
Summary: Harry never saw himself becoming a professor. Nor did he ever see himself running into his arch nemesis, Draco Malfoy, on the train to Hogwarts five years after they finished school. He really didn't expect their first civil conversation to go like this, either.Prompt from Tumblr: "Basically it's Harry & Draco as Hogwarts professors and they were the only two staff members to get the train to Hogwarts (obvs before the students) and they end up sharing a cabin on the train and you can make it cute or angsty or whatever you feel like"





	An Accidental Heart-to-Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-drarry is my absolute favorite.

For the millionth time since leaving the Headmistress’ office in May, Harry wondered if he was doing the right thing. It wasn’t as if he’s had much choice however, as he was incapable of saying no to his old professor.

 

He never intended on becoming a professor. He’d had enough terrible ones in his time at Hogwarts that he was turned off from the profession. But again, after his accident, he’d had little choice. Three years of Auror training and two years in the field had left Harry with nothing but nightmares, lingering depression, and a half-working leg.

 

It was simply a routine mission. He and his new partner (a trainee) had been asked to take apart an old Death Eater safe house that had been causing problems for its Muggle neighbors. Apparently the Dark Magic that still lingered in the house was setting off car alarms, spooking animals, and moving or breaking objects nearby. Muggles called it a haunted house. Auror Potter called it busy work.

 

It should have been an easy job. His partner, a girl fresh out of basic training, should have been able to keep up. With caution, he sent her ahead of him to see what spells she could discover and remove in a room before he would go in to check her work.

 

Auror Trainee Digby should have been able to defuse the trap in the room. It was one of the most well-taught spells in the booby trap module of training. However, as Harry would later find out, Clara had been ill that day.

 

When he stepped into the sitting room, everything seemed set to rights. The furniture was neat and orderly. The atmosphere was free of the hum of Dark Magic that the untreated rooms possessed. So Harry walked the perimeter, praising her work as he went.

 

He felt the spell activate just as his foot touched the ground. It was _right fucking_ below the window, one of the most obvious places to set a trap. It was a rookie mistake, sure, but it should have been a clear place to check. But instead of praising Digby for her good work, he was now screaming as he felt something snap in his leg, which collapsed underneath him. His vision swam with the pain of his nerves melting and fusing together, and Digby’s cries sounded like Harry was under water. Finally, he blacked out.

 

He spent the next few months of his life re-learning how to walk. Thankfully, Digby had known the counter-curse and was able to stop the spell before it took all of his mobility. His leg was still partially crippled, however, and he used a cane to offset the heavy limp.

 

He was honorably discharged from the Aurors after several magical operations from the best doctors in England were unsuccessful. Many doctors at this point refused to treat him, for fear of worsening the injury. Harry was forced to give up on his dreams. For years, all he had wanted was to become an Auror, to fight those who had hurt him in his past. And now he was forced out of his dream job because of a rookie’s error.

 

Harry received a letter from Hogwarts’ headmistress in May, ten months after the accident. He floo’d to her office and found her chatting with the portrait of Dumbledore. The sight made Harry unspeakably sad.

 

Professor McGonagall stood to hug Harry when she saw him. He returned it gratefully.

 

“Mr. Potter, it’s good to see you again. Please, have a seat.”

 

“It’s great to see you, too, Professor,” Harry said genuinely. He took the offered seat.

 

“Have a biscuit,” the headmistress offered, holding out a metal tin. Harry had to smile, remembering the woman’s quiet protests of the high inquisitor in his fifth year. He took a biscuit and munched on it as she straightened the papers on her desk.

 

“So as you know, Mr. Potter, there was a curse placed on the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor by Voldemort.” Harry nodded. “Well, the curse was lifted the moment Voldemort was killed. Ironically, since the end of the war, we’ve still gone through one defense professor per year for one reason or another. However, he has decided to step down from the position. And we know find ourselves for the first time in a long while able to offer the position to someone in the long term.”

 

Harry was surprised. Why would anyone want to leave the defense job if they didn’t absolutely have to? It seemed like great fun.

 

“And you want to consult _me_ about finding a new professor?” Harry asked.

 

The headmistress smiled. “Actually, Mr. Potter, I was hoping to offer you the position yourself.” Harry bit his tongue out of shock.

 

“Me? You want me to teach?”

 

Her smile grew. “Well, Mr. Potter, I can hardly think of someone more qualified to teach defense than the Boy-Who-Lived. On top of that, you’re a fully trained Auror.”

 

Harry’s heart beat faster at the idea. A part of him wanted to laugh, a part of him wanted to cry. All of him was incredibly conflicted about this proposition.

 

“I understand your hesitance. You've not had great experiences with your own defense professors, save possibly Remus, but I trust you completely with this role.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows knit together at this. What had he done to even get her consideration?

 

“I have also gotten several letters of recommendation from those who were a part of your first teaching group. I believe it was known as… Dumbledore’s Army?”

 

Harry was shocked, but a grin broke out across his face nonetheless. Count on his friends to do something like this, going behind his back to try and get him back to Hogwarts. He was so truly grateful for all of them.

 

“So, Mr. Potter, are you willing to accept my offer?”

 

Even as his heart raced with anxiety at the thought, Harry nodded. “I’d be honored to, professor.”

 

“If you’re going to be working as one of my staff, I’d much prefer it if you just called me Minerva.”

 

“Yeah, that’s going to take some getting used to.”

 

She got a wistful look in her eye. “That’s the same thing Remus said.”

 

* * *

 

After several hours of physical therapy, Harry was sore to the bone. His leg throbbed with every step, but today was too important a day to be lazing about.

 

Today was his first day as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

 

Considering he’d been held up that morning until the last minute, he’d been forced to take the Hogwarts Express to school with the students. In all honesty, he felt like a first year again, as if everything had changed since he’d last stepped onto the train.

 

Lurching the last few steps, Harry grasped the handle of the compartment door and slid it open. His heart skipped when he saw someone already inside. A very familiar, yet very different someone.

 

Draco Malfoy looked up from the book he was reading and into Harry’s face. His gray eyes widened with the surprise that Harry felt.

 

“Potter?” Malfoy finally said. His voice was deeper, warmer than it had been when they were 17. “You’re the new Defense professor.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Harry could only stare. The aristocratic death eater that had fled the Battle of Hogwarts five years ago was now sitting on a train returning to the very same school. And he seemed… different. His hair was longer, tied back in a ribbon while some strands hung down to brush his jaw. His face was a bit fuller, his features less sharp. And his eyes still stared into Harry’s.

 

And Harry came back to himself as his leg throbbed terribly. He’d already been standing on it too long today, now he was just making it worse. He tried not to rely on his cane as he stepped into the compartment, but his ungraceful collapse onto the seat made it obvious how much he needed the support.

 

He took a deep breath as his muscles stung. In a few seconds, the pain would subside, but he always felt the burn of his damaged nerves after standing for a time. Without thinking, he reached down to rub at the muscles the way his therapist showed him, slow circles to loosen up the area.

 

His eyes flicked up to see Malfoy watching his movements, staring at the hand moving on his thigh. Harry cleared his throat, and their eyes met for a second before Malfoy dropped his eyes to his book, cheeks flushing. That was new. Harry had never seen Malfoy blush before.

 

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, wherein several students peered into the compartment, only to gasp once they saw its occupants and flee to find a different place to sit.

 

“So... what brings you back here?” Harry finally inquired.

 

“Slughorn,” Malfoy clipped out, eyes not rising from the words on the page he’d been staring at for nearly ten minutes. Not that Harry had been watching him all that time…

 

When no further explanation came, Harry internally sighed. “What about him?”

 

There was a pause, Malfoy continued to stare at his book and Harry continued to stare at him. Finally, he looked up. “Hm? Oh, he’s retiring. I’m to be the new Potions professor.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows raised at that. Whatever he was expecting Malfoy to say, it wasn’t that.

 

“I didn’t know you were trained.”

 

Malfoy still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I’ve been in France since the war ended, training with one of their three Potions masters. It took until only a few days ago to gain my mastery.”

 

“Mastery? I thought that took ten years or more!”

 

“I’d been learning from Severus for years before even starting Hogwarts. I continued that training until the war began. Then he was too busy fighting for both sides to train me.”

 

“You knew?” Harry was shocked. If Malfoy had figured it out, how had Voldemort not?

 

Malfoy nodded. “He told me when I… took the Mark.” Malfoy seemed to close off after that. Harry resigned himself to silence as well, looking out at all the families bringing their students to the platform. His eyes landed on two men, each holding one hand of a small boy who looked like a first year. Harry couldn’t help but think of Remus and Sirius promising to take him to the platform.

 

In just six short years, Harry would be bringing his own godson to the platform for his first year. The thought made Harry’s heart skip a beat.

 

Their compartment was silent through the beginning of their journey, Malfoy reading his book and Harry watching the landscape pass.

 

Before long, the trolley witch came to their compartment. Harry’s stomach growled at the thought of food, and he picked up his cane to stand.

 

“Don’t bother, Potter.” Malfoy said as he stood. “What’ll you have?” Harry’s mind went blank as he tried to process what was happening. He set his cane back down.

 

“A cau-,” he paused to clear his throat. “A cauldron cake and chocolate frog, please.” Malfoy nodded and turned to the trolley, picking out several items and handing the witch a few coins from his pocket. He turned back to Harry and handed him two of what he asked for, taking the other items for himself. “Thank you.”

 

Malfoy didn’t answer. He bit his lip, eyes locked onto the floor between them.

 

“I was… sorry to hear about your accident,” the Slytherin finally said, raising his eyes to meet Harry’s. They were sincere. “Its terrible, the things they write about you.”

 

Harry flinched as some of the worse press of his accident ran through his head. Some claimed that he was faking the injury to get attention in the aftermath of the war. Others were much darker, speculating that his healing time was really a cover for him going into hiding and trying to gain followers, as though he would become another Dark Lord. As far-fetched as the idea sounded to most, there were still some who feared Voldemort enough to believe the rumors.

 

“It's definitely not any worse than the things they still say about you,” Harry reasoned.

 

Malfoy dodged the response. “Does it still hurt you often? Your leg?”

 

Harry thought about it, and waved his hand in a so-so fashion. “I can manage most days, but today was particularly bad.”

 

Malfoy nodded, looking as though he wanted to say something, but was holding it back. “To become a potions master, you have to design your own potion. It’s tested through many trials and perfected. Then it gets placed onto the International Wizarding Potions Registry.”

 

Harry was confused by the train of conversation, but was interested by Malfoy’s willingness to speak to him. “That sounds difficult. I never quite grasped the experimentation side of potions.”

 

Malfoy nodded. “It was quite difficult. It took me nearly a year to perfect.”

 

“So what did you make?”

 

Malfoy didn’t answer for several minutes. Harry considered asking again in case he hadn’t heard, but he finally spoke.

 

“It's a combination potion of sorts. Very specialized application.” He paused, chewing thoughtfully on a bit of cauldron cake before continuing. “It’s one part pain reliever, one part muscle relaxer, and one part nerve stimulant.” He coughed, and his voice dropped so that Harry had to learn forward to hear him over the chugging of the train, and his eyes stayed locked on his own lap. “It’s a cream, meant to be applied topically to an extremity that is partially paralyzed from… spell damage to nerves.”

 

Harry knew he was not the most… observant of people, but he certainly did not miss the significance of the potion. He was hesitant to assume that it had been designed with him in mind, but as the silence drew out between them, and Malfoy continued to pretend Harry didn’t exist, he couldn’t _not_ come to that conclusion.

 

“Why?” he asked quietly. He was touched, and immensely confused, and bizarrely choked up. “Why would you do that for me? You hate me.”

 

“I don’t hate you, Potter. I don’t. I hated what you were, what you symbolized. I hated that we were always on opposing sides. I hate that I thought we had to be. I hate what I was to you.” He took a shaky breath. “So I made the potion to apologize. And to thank you.”

 

“Thank me? For what?”

 

“For my trial. You saved my life.”

 

Harry let the rumbling of the train stretch between them as he processed Malfoy’s words.

 

“You saved my life when I was trapped in your house.”

 

“You saved my life in the Room of Requirement.”

 

“Your mother saved my life in the Forbidden Forest.” Harry knew he had him there when Malfoy’s shocked eyes snapped up to meet his.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked breathily.

 

Harry pulled his wits together, images of countless nightmares coming to mind. “During the final battle, I went into the forest to find Voldemort.” Malfoy flinched violently. Harry pretended not to notice. “You remember how I faked being dead?”

 

Malfoy nodded, looking haunted. “I was sure it was over then. It was like I could feel everyone just… giving up.”

 

“It wasn’t totally fake.”

 

Malfoy choked on his sweet. “What the hell do you mean?” he asked sharply.

 

Harry smiled at his reaction. It was nearly identical to how Ron had acted when he’d explained it all to him.

 

“I did actually die in the forest that day. Voldemort-“ another flinch, “did actually kill me.”

 

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously. “You’re lying,” he concluded.

 

Harry shook his head. “I’ve got the curse scar on my chest to prove it. For at least a little while, I was dead.”

 

“But… how? Are you immortal or something?”

 

Harry snorted. “Don’t tell me you believe that rubbish.”

 

“Of course not,” Malfoy looked embarrassed at his own words. “I just don’t understand.”

 

Harry decided to throw caution to the wind. “You ever hear of something called a Horcrux?”

 

Malfoy audibly gasped, leaning back in his seat. Harry rolled his eyes at the drama. “ _You?!_ ” Malfoy sputtered. “Merlin. You, of all people, YOU made a Horcrux?!”

 

“Yes, Malfoy, I- wait, what? No! No, that’s not what I-“ Harry mouth raced to catch up with his mind, and he had to stop to breath. “No, Malfoy, I didn’t make a Horcrux! I _was_ one!”

 

The Slytherin sobered up at that. “You… were a Horcrux.”

 

“Yes,” Harry said deliberately, tapping his scar. Malfoy leaned forward, staring at the mark in wonder.

 

“That… actually explains a lot.”

 

“I know, right?”

 

“Wow.” He shook his head as if to clear it, shaking loose more white-blond hair from its ponytail.

 

They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. Harry considered the ramifications of the potion Malfoy had mentioned. If he could get his hands on it— no, it was probably ridiculously expensive, and he needed to save money for Teddy. But… what if he could walk again, totally normally? His life would be back on track, maybe he could work as an Auror again.

 

He needed a break from this heavy thinking. He cracked open a chocolate frog box, nabbing the treat from mid-air as it leapt. He reached back into the box and snorted when he pulled out a card with Ron Weasley written on the back. When he turned it over, his best mate smiled up at him, waving a hand in greeting. Harry smiled back.

 

“You collect frog cards?” he asked Malfoy absentmindedly.

 

“Yeah.” Harry held up the card for him to see. “No thanks, I’ve got about ten of him already, bloody _Golden Trio_.”

 

“Well I’ve got the real thing for a housemate. Here.” He flicked the pentagonal card across the compartment, and Malfoy caught it between two fingers. _Seeker reflexes never die._

 

Harry bit into the chocolate, groaning at the flavor. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Leave me alone. I went eleven years of my life without knowing what chocolate tasted like. You learn to appreciate it that way.” Malfoy’s brows knit together at that. “What?”

 

“I read it all in Lovegood’s exposé, but it's still hard to wrap my mind around how awful those muggles were to you.”

 

And there it was. The other shoe. _That_ was why Malfoy was being so nice to him.

 

Three months after the Battle of Hogwarts, just enough time for the rumor mill to churn out enough garbage that even Harry’s best friends began to question him about his life, Harry went to Luna to ask for a feature in _The Quibbler_. “Beneath His Scar” became the claim to fame for Mr. Lovegood’s self-published magazine, and it spread like fiendfyre to all corners of wizarding England.

 

The biography, which certainly wasn’t an exposé by any definition, told the story of Harry’s life, from his birth to the end of the war. It was the first time he had opened up entirely about life with the Dursley’s, his hesitance in the wizarding world, how much he loved and missed Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Fred, Cedric, everyone he’d lost. He was candid, for the first time in his life, that he had suffered mentally from his childhood and teenage years. He received more hugs in the week following that issue’s release than he had in the rest of his life previous.

 

“You know, it wasn’t as bad as Mr. Lovegood made it out to be,” Harry said, remembering the drama with which the eccentric man had written his life.

 

“So they _didn’t_ lock you in a cupboard and refuse you food, touch, or any form of love? For eleven years?”

 

“Well, they did, but when you say it like that-“

 

“Merlin, Harry, that’s child abuse! What don’t you understand about that?” Harry froze at the use of his given name, but Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. Harry felt like a scolded child. “You were just a kid! You didn’t deserve any of that! Merlin, if I’d known you’d grown up like that, I wouldn’t have…” Malfoy trailed off, shaking his head.

 

“You wouldn’t have what?” Harry asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

 

“I wouldn’t have treated you just as bad as they did.” He seemed almost embarrassed by the answer. Harry chose not to think too hard about it.

 

They were nearing their stop now and Malfoy placed his remaining food and books back into his bag, putting his outer robes back on. Harry stretched out his leg, turning it side to side to make sure it was ready to walk on. The train slowed to a stop and Malfoy stood. Harry placed the end of his cane on the floor and pushed down on it to get himself up. He was halfway there when his muscle spasmed and sent him back down on his rear, gritting his teeth at the pain. The students in the corridor ran up and down, yelling excitedly to their friends. He hoped none of them were watching him right now.

 

A hand appeared in his vision and he looked up to see Malfoy looking down at him with concern.

 

“Can I help you?” Harry asked, still embarrassed at his state.

 

“You already have. Now, I was hoping I could return the favor.” Harry allowed Malfoy to grasp his upper arm and help pull him to a standing position. Once standing, Harry was able to keep himself up, though his leg still protested. His limp was going to be awful. What a great first impression the students were going to have of him.

 

If only Remus could see him now. What a pair of haggard Defense professors they’d make.

 

Harry winced as he took his first step. Malfoy was at his elbow, hands extended towards him as if he would catch him.

 

“I’m fine, Malfoy, let’s just get off the bloody train.”

 

“As soon as we get through the feast I’ll get you some of that cream.”

 

Harry paused in his lurching movements. Damn, his therapist really did a number on him today. “Thank you, Malfoy” he said sincerely.

 

“You’re welcome. And while we’re working together, I’d much prefer it if you called me Draco.”

 

Harry looked his colleague— Draco Malfoy, his arch nemesis turned colleague— in the eye. “In that case, you should call me Harry.”

 

The corner of Malfoy’s— Draco’s— lips twitched up. “As you wish.” With that, the blonde ducked out of the compartment, leaving a bewildered Harry to follow.

 

For the first time since leaving the Headmistress’ office in May, Harry was absolutely sure he was doing the right thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come follow me on tumblr for a bunch or random writing. My url is mobilicordis.


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